Down Smokey Road
Deep in the holler
Edge of the woods
A plain white house
At first glance
An ordinary dwelling
But with unusually
Tiny windows
Brandishes strident
Political preferences
From its porch
Flags and signage
Nailed to the siding
Adjacent to and
Noticeably larger than
Its small apertures

You must wonder with
Such narrow openings
It must be impossible
To catch a glimpse
Of heavens spinning
A plump saffron moon
Skirting the horizon
A fox slipping silently
Past barn and silo
Or when it first begins
To snow – you know
That white blurring of
Vision edge to edge
Or taking in the breadth
Of humanity living
Breathing and suffering
Just beyond
Those tiny windows